


Numb

by Potrix



Series: Holding On [6]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Developing Relationship, Happy Ending, Hurt Tony Stark, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Insecurity, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Misunderstandings, Not Iron Man 3 Compliant, POV Tony Stark, Relationship Negotiation, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Self-Worth Issues, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-19 16:31:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3616644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Potrix/pseuds/Potrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The worst of it is, it’s Tony’s own goddamned fault and he knows it. Oh God, does he ever know it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Numb

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry about the wait, guys! 
> 
> This story just wouldn’t turn out the way I wanted it to, it nearly drove me mad. But here we are now, the long awaited sadness and angst and-
> 
> What? Oh, you wanted them to be happy?
> 
> Yeah, uhm. Sorry about that, I guess. 
> 
> (Nah, kidding. I’m a total sucker for happy endings, you’ll see.)

**Numb**

* * *

The feeling of loss is overwhelming.

A heavy weight on Tony’s chest, pressing down, slowly suffocating him, squeezing the air out of his lungs while he can do nothing but stare.

It’s silent in his head for once, an eerie blankness Tony has absolutely no idea what to do with.

He should have seen this coming, Tony realises as he flicks through the pictures, should have recognised this as an inevitability, the only logical outcome and most likely conclusion to his newest, and failed, attempt at a steady relationship.

Or not-relationship. Or whatever it is. Was. Is?

Swallowing against the stubbornly persistent lump in his throat, Tony waves his hand to enlarge the photos, spreading them across the holo screens around him.

He’s careful not to look at Bucky, focusing his full attention on the other man instead.

Early twenties, Tony’d guess, Mediterranean influences, probably Spain or Portugal. Dark hair and eyes, a slight tan to really bring out the olive tone of his skin. Handsome.

Bucky has a type, apparently, Tony thinks with a humourless chuckle, just traded the flawed, outdated model in for a newer one.

The worst of it is, it’s Tony’s own goddamned fault and he knows it. Oh God, does he ever know it.

It’s been eight weeks since he played human-kebab for one of Doom’s monstrosities, two months filled with hospitals, doctors, check-ups, physical therapy and a lot of frustration and anger mostly directed at the person who least deserves it.

And Bucky, well, Bucky has shown that he has the patience of a saint the entire time, taking Tony’s restlessness, ranting and terrible mood swings in complete stride, always right next to him offering reassuring words, gentle hands and a shoulder to lean on.

Until now, it seems.

Now, Tony has pushed him too far. Again. It’s what he’s good at, after all, the only thing he’s good for.

And who can blame Bucky?

Tony’s been fucking useless ever since he got home, unable to stay up for more than a couple of hours or concentrate for extended periods of time or even think about reciprocating Bucky’s advances in the bedroom without passing out from sheer exhaustion.

Or the pain. It’s about 50/50 these days.

Bucky’s been so infuriatingly nice about it, too. Wrapping him up in blankets and sneaking him coffee despite strict doctor’s orders against it, helping him down to the workshop or bringing the projects up to the penthouse whenever Tony’s been to weak for even the short journey downstairs, holding Tony through a whole new selection of night terrors, providing his hands and mouth when all Tony can manage is to slide his fingers into his hair for some lazy patting and scratching.

And Tony has driven him off because of course that’s what he’d do. Snapped and glared at him, yelled that he wasn’t an invalid, was a grown ass man who could take care of himself without Bucky hovering and mother-henning him 24/7.

Tony has noticed Bucky growing more distant over the last couple of days and done absolutely nothing about it, has ignored it and convinced himself that it would be all right in the end. That everything would be fine.

Nothing is all right. Nothing is fine.

Steeling himself with a long, deep breath, Tony finally glances up at his ex-maybe-boyfriend’s face and winces, quickly averting his eyes again at the expression of carefree happiness, of utter joy.

“My own fault,” Tony reminds himself, pressing a hand to his aching ribs and revelling in the renewed wave of pain, gladly accepting even the tiniest of punishments for his latest fuck-up.

The second attempt isn’t any easier, but Tony forces himself to not look away this time.

Bucky is grinning in all of the pictures, lopsided and toothily the way he does when he’s truly enjoying himself, shoulder to shoulder with the other man or with an arm around his waist or their faces mashed together or, in the last one, brushing a kiss over the man’s cheek.

They’re comparably harmless selfies, Tony is more tactile with people he probably knows less, but Tony, despite all his faults and shortcomings, isn’t stupid.

Bucky withdrawing from Tony, suddenly leaving the tower for things that aren’t therapy appointments or the occasional run with Sam and Steve or walks with Archie, the appearance of the photos and the proof they bring that Bucky’d been lying this morning when telling Tony he was going to see Doctor Keaton.

It all adds up. It’s glaringly obvious.

_“Sir, Sergeant Barnes has stepped into the elevator and is approaching the penthouse level.”_

Startled, Tony jumps and then groans at the twinge in his side, pokes at the painful area to get another quick dose before waving the holograms away just as Bucky steps into the living area.

His smile is brittle and strained for a moment before he can pull one of his masks over it, but Bucky doesn’t appear to notice, is beaming at him as he walks over to the couch.

“Hey, sugar,” he hums and leans over the back of the sofa, hooking a finger under Tony’s chin and tipping his head back for a kiss, sweet and lingering. Nudging Tony’s nose with his own, he adds, “Missed ya.”

“You too,” Tony says, willing himself not to show his surprise at being greeted so enthusiastically, as if nothing had happened, as if everything’s okay. “How was the shrink?”

Bucky shrugs, pulling a face. “Same old,” he sighs, pushing his nose into Tony’s hair and trailing his fingers down Tony’s arms until he can link their fingers, squeezing softly. “You hungry? Chinese and some Doctor Who sound good?”

“Yeah,” Tony croaks, clearing his throat. “Yeah, sounds great.”

Bucky frowns down at him worriedly, thumbs stroking over Tony’s knuckles. “You okay, doll?”

“Tired,” Tony says which isn’t a lie, but not the full truth either.

It works, though, Bucky’s smiling again as he kisses Tony’s forehead and then the top of his head, disentangling himself to fish out his phone. “I’ll order dinner and go grab a shower. You sit tight.”

Tony nods mutely, numbly, and pulls his blanket a little tighter around himself, watching Bucky move out into the hall and blinking against the embarrassing dampness at the corners of his eyes.

He can do this.

He can pretend.

But he can’t lose Bucky.

***

“Are you sure?” Bucky asks, mouthing down Tony’s spine and giving the swell of his ass a playful nip, teasing his tongue between Tony’s cheeks before moving up again to kiss the back of Tony’s neck. “How’s the pain? Don’t wanna hurt you.”

 _You already have_ , Tony doesn’t say, reaches for the lube in the nightstand instead and squirts some into Bucky’s waiting palm. “It’s fine, it’s a good day.”

Meaning it’s tolerable, barely, as long as he stays on his side and breathes shallowly.

He gasps at the first press of Bucky’s finger, grits his teeth against the pang in his ribs when he lifts one leg to give him better access. “Keep going, babe, come on.”

By the time Bucky’s done prepping him, Tony’s sweating and panting, hands fisted into the sheets, unable to stop his body from trembling.

Bucky hesitates again with the tip of his cock nudged against Tony’s hole and a quiet, concerned, “Tony?”

“It’s been a few weeks, I’m excited. So sue me.”

The excuse is enough, making Bucky chuckle as he pushes in, then groan when Tony clenches around him.

“Shit,” Bucky moans, hand scrabbling along the mattress until Tony snatches it up and laces their fingers together. “Shit, you feel so good, darlin’, so perfect.”

Bringing their linked hands down to his own erection, Tony starts stroking and Bucky soon adapts the same rhythm, alternately whispering endearments and absolute filth into Tony’s ear as he slowly rocks into him.

 _He’s telling the truth_ , Tony silently repeats to himself, over and over, and then, when breathing starts getting harder, when it feels like his lungs are on fire, _you can do this, you can do this for him, you can make him stay._

Afterwards, with Bucky snoring quietly behind him and a cool metal hand sprawled over his hip, Tony buries his face in his pillow in a futile attempt to drown out the doubts creeping back into the back of his mind.

***

More pictures arrive.

This time they went to Coney Island.

Tony opens a bottle of whisky and starts getting dizzy after half a glass, throwing up his breakfast, medication and the booze until all that’s left is bile.

Steve finds him in the workshop bathroom and fusses over him, lips pinched and frowning when Tony refuses to talk but still cleaning him up and half carrying him up to his bedroom.

Bucky doesn’t bring home the giant plush elephant from the photos.

_***_

It’s an accident.

Well, mostly.

Bucky is out again and Tony suspects he’s put Cap on babysitting duty, because Steve is lounging in the armchair with his sketchbook while Tony works on his tablet.

“The light is better up here,” he’d claimed and Tony had just rolled his eyes and let him do his thing, refusing to acknowledge the fluttering in his chest at the thought that Bucky cares enough to make sure he’s being looked after while Bucky isn’t here to do it himself.

While he’s fucking some other guy who isn’t needy and pathetic and can wipe his own ass without nearly falling off the toilet in pain.

Tony shifts in his seat, trying to find a more comfortable position and biting back a cry when his wriggling makes the arm of the couch dig into his ribs.

He’s about to move again, but then he stills, putting his full weight onto his side instead.

His vision immediately goes fuzzy, then grey around the edges and then there’s nothing but darkness and that’s kind of nice, actually.

Tony comes to in what he instantly recognises as a hospital room, eyes fluttering open to Bucky in a chair next to him, asleep with his upper body slumped across the free space on Tony’s bed but still determinedly clutching Tony’s hand.

The subtle movements of Tony waking up are enough to rouse Bucky, too, his head snapping up to reveal a pair of puffy, red-rimmed eyes.

“Tony,” he breathes, relief washing over his face, and props himself up on one elbow, leaning over Tony to ghost a soft kiss over his lips. “You scared me, sugar,” he chokes out and the wave of guilt that hits Tony takes his breath away for a moment.

“I’m sorry,” Tony rasps once he’s collected himself enough to do so, “I’m so sorry, baby, I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry, I didn’t-“

Bucky kisses him again, oh so carefully helping Tony to scoot over so he can snuggle up against his side, their foreheads pressed together and mouths only a hair’s breadth apart, clinging to each other almost desperately.

“What happened?” Bucky asks eventually, foot rubbing against Tony’s under the blankets. “Do you remember?”

Tony shakes his head, breath hitching, because he doesn’t know how to explain, what to say, it just happened, he didn’t mean to do this, it wasn’t-

“Hey, hush, it’s okay,” Bucky whispers, threading his fingers into Tony’s hair, massaging some of the tension out of his neck. “I’ve got you, sweetheart, you’re okay. It’s okay.”

Perversely enough, being curled up in Bucky’s arms is exactly what Tony needs in order to forget that Bucky is something he’s bound to lose.

***

Over the next month, they fall into a pattern.

Bucky meets his mystery man - boyfriend? lover? affair? love of his life? - about once a week while Tony simultaneously seethes with jealousy and beats himself up over being clingy and pathetic.

He’s aware that he has no right, absolutely none, to act as if he’s being scorned or cheated on, as if Bucky’s doing anything wrong or forbidden, but knowing that in his head doesn’t exactly help with the tight feeling he gets in his chest whenever Bucky is with the guy.

They haven’t had The Talk yet, haven’t set any rules and boundaries for their relationship, and Bucky is free to date whomever he pleases, stick his dick wherever he wants, Tony has no say in that, no matter how much he wishes Bucky’s just come clean and make a decision.

But then again, that decision certainly wouldn’t fall in his favour, so maybe this is for the best.

Tony can share.

Or he can learn to.

Maybe.

He _has_ to.

He wonders, briefly, if he should insist on protection now that there’s someone else. Bucky has that bastardised version of the serum and can’t contract anything, but that doesn’t mean he can’t become a carrier for something nasty and pass that along to Tony.

Tony’s too selfish for that, though. He wants Bucky like he’s always had him, consequences be damned, he got there first and he’s not about to give up on anything.

Not until Bucky makes him.

***

“You’re quieter than usual,” Natasha observes one morning as they sit on opposite sides of the breakfast bar in the common floor kitchen.

She stares at Tony, in that creepy way of hers, but Tony just stares back impassively until she sighs and moves her attention back to her paper.

Tony shoves his untouched plate of eggs and bacon away and gets up, hobbling out of the room and ignoring Steve calling after him and asking if he’s all right.

***

Steve being Steve, he can never leave anything alone, so Tony shouldn’t be as surprised as he is when Cap corners him later that day, chin lifted in his no nonsense expression.

“Tony, what’s going on?” he wants to know and actually steps between Tony and the door before Tony can even think about escaping.

Tony glowers at him, jaw set defiantly, but if there’s one thing Steve is that Tony isn’t, it’s patient.

“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it,” Tony sighs eventually, only to earn himself an almost insultingly unimpressed look and a disbelievingly arched eyebrow.

Steve and his stupidly expressive face, honestly.

“I’m handling it, all right?” Tony tries which is the wrong thing to say, going by the way Steve’s mouth turns down at the corners.

“You’re not, Tony,” he says, not unkindly, ruffling a nervous hand through his hair. “You’re fading, you’re here but you’re not really _here_.”

Tony eyes him dubiously. “What’s that even supposed to mean?”

“You rarely come down to the common floors anymore,” Steve immediately starts to list off, “you don’t come to movie nights or team dinners, you restricted everyone’s access to the penthouse and the workshop, and when you’re around, you barely talk. Hell, you stopped teasing me, Tony, I’m worried. We’re all worried. Bucky especially.”

And he really doesn’t mean to, but Tony snorts at that, then immediately feels stricken because he’s being unreasonably possessive again.

“What?” Steve demands, brows drawn together as he reaches out to cautiously touch Tony’s shoulder. “Tony, please. What’s wrong?”

The genuine concern in Steve’s voice, his stupid earnestness and eagerness to help are what finally make Tony snap.

“Why don’t you ask your super BFF?” he hisses, appalled at how raw he sounds but barrelling on nonetheless. “He’s the one screwing someone else!”

As soon as the words are out, Tony smacks a hand over his mouth because _shit_ , he shouldn’t have said that, he shouldn’t be accusing Bucky like this, he’s being petty and unfair and-

“He _what_?” Steve shrieks and under any other circumstances, Tony would be laughing at the shrill pitch of his voice and making a quip about it, but he absolutely can’t find anything funny about the situation right then.

“You can’t say anything about this to him, Steve.“

“The hell I can’t!” Steve interrupts, face thunderous. “Tony-“

“No, Steve,” Tony hisses, frantic, shaking off Steve’s limp hand. “I shouldn’t have- this doesn’t concern you, you can’t tell him that I know. Steve, you can’t!”

But Steve is shaking his head, grabbing for Tony again, taking hold of his elbows. “Tony, what-“

“Steve, listen to me,” Tony implores desperately, cupping Steve’s face between his hands, effectively forcing Steve to look at him. “You can’t. He can’t know that I know.”

Steve’s silent for a long moment, then he sighs and closes his eyes. “Why not?”

 _Because he’d leave me_ , Tony thinks and swallows down a sob, _because he’d never choose me._

All he says, though, is a quiet, pleading, “Steve, please.”

“You gotta talk to him,” Steve insists, but then holds up his hands to stop Tony’s immediate protests. “I’m not gonna, all right? But you should.”

Which, yeah. Not going to happen.

“I’ll think about it, okay?” Tony hedges and when he moves away this time, Steve lets him. “Drop it, just this once.”

Steve nods, face still drawn into a conflicted frown, and Tony can’t do much more than hope that he’ll keep his mouth shut.

But Steve being Steve, the guy picking fights with people twice his size or even whole government agencies when he feels it’s justified, Tony figures chances that this is going to end well are slim to none.

***

Tony can already hear them yelling when he walks out of the elevator and onto the penthouse level a few hours of tinkering later.

Right again, then.

Sometimes, Tony really wishes he were wrong more often.

“-is complete bullcrap, Rogers!” Bucky is shouting, pacing back and forth in front of the couch, scowling at Steve in a way that would make lesser man slink away with their tails between their legs.

He sees Tony tentatively rounding the corner, pointing at him in triumph. “Ha! He’ll tell ya how crazy you’re sounding,” he sniffs in Steve’s general direction before turning toward Tony again. “Tell Crazy Cap over there that we’re fine, he’s got some ridiculous idea of me cheatin’ on you stuck in his dumb head.”

Tony opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again, and absolutely nothing comes out. He ducks his head and stares at his shoes.

“Darlin’?” Bucky questions hesitantly, and the vulnerability and confusion so clearly audible under the faux calmness very nearly break Tony’s heart.

Or what’s left of it, anyway.

“I saw the pictures,” he admits through a whisper, hands clenched so hard his knuckles are straining against skin, turning it milky white. “The facial recognition software I developed, to keep track of us all and prevent another photos of naked, drunk Clint shooting arrows at Times Square incident? Your, uh, your pictures plopped up, too. The selfies?”

Bucky’s expression remains uncomprehending so Tony pushes on, despite the bile he can taste at the back of his throat, the sudden ringing in his ears.

“You went to the park and Coney Island? You had a plush elephant and-“

“That’s what this is about?” Bucky interrupts incredulously, upper lip twitching up into a half-sneer. “He’s my nephew, for shit’s sake! Or, my oldest sister’s grandson, whatever that makes him. My relative! I ain’t fuckin’ him, Jesus Christ, Tony!”

“Oh,” Tony replies lamely.

“Yeah, _oh_ ,” Bucky spits, agitatedly running his fingers through his hair. “You’re unbelievable, you know that? You-“

“Well, you lied,” Tony snaps back, “how was I supposed to know? You kept lying about where you were going-“

Bucky throws up his hands. “Because it’s impossible to tell you people anything without you makin’ it into a huge deal! Forgive me for wanting to get to know my family without all of you spying and meddlin’ and-“

“Fine, look, it doesn’t matter anyway,” Tony interjects quickly, unable to meet Bucky’s eyes. “You’re free to do whatever or whomever you want, it’s not as if we’re in an actual relationship or even dating, really. It’s fine. It’s all fine.”

“You-“ Bucky starts, chest heaving, and takes a step toward Tony. “That how you see us? That what you want? Fuckin’ tell me what you want from me, Tony, right now!”

“Bucky,” Steve tries, but wisely shuts up again at the downright murderous glare that earns him.

“I- I didn’t- I-“ Tony stutters, faltering when Bucky turns his anger onto him.

Bucky just shakes his head at him, mouth downturned and blinking rapidly. “Good to know how you think of me.”

Shame washes over Tony, paralysing and crushing all at once, stealing the breath from his lungs and the words right out of his mouth.

 _Fucked up again, Stark,_ he thinks despairingly, _this is it, you’ve done it again._

He doesn’t realise that he’s digging his fingers into the still healing wound on his side until Bucky is suddenly there, yanking his hand away and shaking him while the previously darkening room comes back into focus.

“Why-“ he whispers, then changes course to, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

 _“If I may?”_ JARVIS chips in and Bucky gestures for him to continue before Tony even has the chance to open his mouth or mute him. _“Sir has been testing pain responses to the application of pressure to the scar tissue and infected area around the wound sustained in battle during his last mission outing. I should have noticed and informed Captain Rogers about the situation sooner. I apologise for my oversight.”_

Bucky goes scarily still at that, eyes boring into Tony’s, daring him to look away or try and talk himself out of this. “JARVIS, what were Tony’s pain levels when we were together? In bed?”

_“Significantly higher than Sir had indicated, Sergeant Barnes.”_

“You’re hurting yourself,” Bucky grits out, his whole body quivering, with what Tony isn’t sure, ready to explode at any moment. “You’re hurting yourself on purpose-“

“Not on purpose,” Tony argues feebly, “not at first. I- it- I didn’t mean to, it happened, an accident, and then I- I might not have done much to make sure it wouldn’t happen again, but not- not on purpose. Buck, I didn’t mean to-“

Bucky laughs, low and broken, a terrible sound. “You’re hurting yourself and you’re using me to hurt yourself-“

“Baby, no-“

“No, fuck this,” Bucky roars and slams his fist into the closest wall, plaster and paint raining down onto his bare feet. “You can’t do this to me, I’m not your fuckin’ toy, Tony, I’m not! You made me hurt you even though- even though you know, you know exactly how little choice I had in- how I couldn’t control what I- when I was with HYDRA. You don’t trust me, you use me and you- no, you know what? Fuck you, Tony. Just- fuck you.”

The only reason Tony doesn’t get shouldered away when Bucky storms past him is because Bucky is considerate, even now, after- even though they’re not- now that it’s over- he still-

And then Steve’s there and Tony can’t deal with him, not right now, shakes his head and says, “Don’t Steve, just don’t,” as he turns on his heel and throws open the door to the stairwell, jogging all the way down to his workshop and ignoring his screaming lungs and ribs.

It doesn’t matter, he’s got pills down here somewhere, his prescription, there, on the table and, “Not now, DUM-E,” and fuck, why do they have to make these stupid bottles so goddamned hard to open?

Tony yanks and the top comes off, bottle clattering to the floor and pills spilling everywhere.

“Fuck. FUCK!”

Alcohol will do as a substitute, Tony decides, grabs a bottle of cheap vodka from his secret stash and drops down onto the cold ground, back against the table.

He sips slowly and he doesn’t think.

It doesn’t matter.

***

Tony startles awake when someone slaps his cheek.

“Wha-?” he slurs, turning away from the hands trying to pry open his eyes. “Stop it.”

“Tony, how many did you take? Tony, come on, talk to me, please!”

Bucky.

Bucky’s voice.

Bucky is here.

Bucky came back?

“What?” Tony repeats, lids fluttering to reveal Bucky’s pale face. “What?”

“How many pills did you take, Tony? Hey, no, sweetheart, stay with me. How many?”

Sluggishly, Tony takes in the empty pill bottle in Bucky’s hand. His trembling hand.

“Dropped ‘em,” he manages, then spots the empty vodka bottle in his own hand, which is when it clicks, his brain instantly on full alert. “No, I didn’t- I dropped them, the pills. Decided on this instead,” he says, nodding at the alcohol. “Shit, I’m not suicidal.”

“Well, after earlier,” Bucky trails off, but he doesn’t have to finish, Tony gets how this must look, mumbles a quiet but genuine, “Sorry.”

The familiarly chapped lips being pressed against his forehead are a surprise, as are Bucky’s arms winding around him, cradling him tight and close against Bucky’s chest.

“You’re freezing,” Bucky murmurs, lingering to kiss the top of Tony’s head before pulling back and straightening up, holding out a hand to help Tony to his feet, too. “Let’s get you into bed, baby, come on.”

Tony has questions, so many questions, but Bucky is right here, propping Tony up on the elevator ride up to the penthouse, stroking gentle fingers through his hair, and Tony doesn’t want it to stop any sooner than it has to.

So he stays silent.

Allows Bucky to lead him to the bedroom and strip him down to his briefs, usher him under the sheets and tuck him in, arrange the pillows behind his back to he’s sitting comfortably against the headboard and can breathe easily.

And then he watches, stunned speechless, as Bucky climbs in after him, straddles his legs, mindful of Tony’s injuries, and leans forward to bring their lips together.

The kisses remain chaste and sweet, Tony’s hands automatically settling on Bucky’s hips while Bucky’s thumbs rub slow, soothing circles into the sensitive skin behind Tony’s ears.

“Does this mean we’re not broken up anymore?” Tony asks when they part for breath, face tucked into the crook of Bucky’s neck and more feeling than hearing Bucky’s deep sigh.

“I didn’t dump you,” Bucky says, hot breath washing over Tony’s ear and making him shiver pleasantly. “Do you want to break up with me?”

Tony shakes his head no, then whines when Bucky disentangles himself and leans back enough so they can properly see each other.

“I owe you an apology,” Bucky insists, pressing a finger against Tony’s lips to keep him from immediately denying that statement. “I reacted real bad earlier, and for that I’m sorry. You were an asshole, don’t get me wrong, but I know why I don’t blame ya. I know some of your relationships ended badly, were bad all the way through. I know that and I shoulda known what that means for us. So let me be real clear with you, yeah?”

He shuts his eyes for a moment, collecting his thoughts, then says without preamble “I love you, Tony, I’m completely gone on you. And I’m a one man sorta guy, and the one that I want is you. You alone, no one else. I love you and I wanna be with you and I hope, I think that’s somethin’ you want as well.”

Tony nods, unable to do more, let alone speak.

“Good. That’s good,” Bucky chuckles, relieved and beaming, dropping a quick kiss on Tony’s mouth. “But I have a condition. Just one. Wanna hear it?”

A slightly more hesitant nod this time.

“I know you trust me, as much as you can, and that’s fine. That’s more than fine. Sayin’ you didn’t was way outta line. I know it’ll take time for you to believe me when I say these things, when I say that I won’t hurt and how much you mean to me. I can wait, as long as you need. But what I need is for you to promise me that you’ll talk to me. Because I’ll do anything for you, doll, absolutely everything if you just tell me what it is you want, but you gotta talk. You don’t gotta do it all by yourself, do you hear?”

“I can try,” Tony offers honestly, all he’s convinced he can give right now. “I’ll try.”

Bucky smiles against his lips. “That’s all I’m askin’, Tony.”

Tony loses himself in the heat of Bucky’s body’s against him, the wet slide of their tongues, the fingertips sneaking under the blankets and dancing along the waistband of his briefs, the teeth nibbling at his jaw and the sensation of bruises being sucked into his skin.

“You’re-“ he gasps, tipping his head back and moaning shamelessly at a particularly enthusiastic bite to his shoulder. “You’re important. To me. You’re important to me. I- I-“

“I know,” Bucky hums, “the feeling’s mutual, darlin’.”

**Author's Note:**

> Go check out my other [work](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Potrix/works), or come over and say hi on [tumblr](http://potrix-the-queerschlaeger.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> For more winteriron fun, visit [imaginetonyandbucky](http://imaginetonyandbucky.tumblr.com/) where you can leave your prompts and headcanons and receive mini-ficlets in return. 
> 
> Until next time!


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